


A New Hello to Follow an Old Goodbye

by misha_collins_butt



Series: And the Stars Will Fade and the Moon Will Fall but Please Stay With Me Tonight [2]
Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Awh, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Fluff, F/F, Hurt!Sam, Implied Sabriel, M/M, Past Sabriel, Prompt Fill, anyway, at all, but no smut, idk laughing, is that what that's called?, it's been three years since Gabe died, like anywhere, literally no smut, lool as hard as you can, marlie?, maybe a little mention of it, meg/charlie - Freeform, okay i'll stop, or cheg?, sam is getting better, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to: An Old Hello And a New Goobye<br/>A prompt fill. Basically a few years after Gabe dies and Sam is kind of okay and things are unexpectedly heating up between Dean and Cas.<br/>Also<br/>The platypus story that Balthazar tells - it is personal experience. It is the exact thing that happened to me and it's entirely out of place in this story but I had to put it somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Remember Ember](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Remember+Ember).



> At this point, Dean and Cas have known eachother for about 9 years and seven months but have only been around eachother a regular basis for about three years  
> Also  
> I am so incredibly fucking sorry in advance for this absolute trainwreck. I have been so inexorably writers-blocked lately and I haven't the foggiest as to why. I can't think of any new ideas, at this point I'm just clawing at thin air for some material. This entire thing was a prompt from user 'Remember Ember' (thank you for that boost, btw, I was contemplating something like this and I don't think I'd have done it without you because I didn't think anyone was all that interested) and I entirely hadn't meant for it to be so dreadfully long - it was meant to be drabble and now it's terrible and oh, dear God, fuck me. Fuck. I'm so fucking sorry, I know this sucks, just bear with me. God fuck I'm so clogged up, I can't think of anything -sobs violently- God help us all when I can't write anymore

Sam notices. So does Jess. And Meg. And probably everyone.

It's not like they mind, really. In fact, they all think it's kind of cute.

The way Dean can't stop grinning when he's around Cas. The way they innocently brush hands every now and again. The way Cas gets flustered when Dean leans in even a little bit. The way the peaks of his cheeks light up red as Rudolph's nose when Dean leans back on something and stares at him.

They're definitely hitting on eachother, and Sam thinks, maybe, just maybe, the Winchesters and the Novaks have some odd, invisible string pulling their families together.

Whatever it is, everyone can see it, and Meg won't shut the fuck up about how cute they would be together.

At one point Sam had to slam down a glass against the bar because she wasn't even pausing to take a breath. Charlie's getting in on it too and Sam just can even deal with anyone right now.

Three years...that's how long it's been. And Sam is better. He's okay. Not happy...definitely not happy. He doesn't think he'll really ever be truly happy again. But content.

Nothing ever really happened between he and Cas after that night at the restaurant and Sam thinks maybe part of it was the amount of beer he'd been drinking. And, though Ellen had stopped Sam at three, and he can most certainly handle more than that, he's sure he was tipsy enough to do something stupid.

Turns out, it didn't really affect anything and he and Cas are still just good friends.

But... _something_...is heating up between Dean and Cas now and nobody is able to deny it. Not with the way they laugh with eachother or the way they basically eye-fuck from across the table.

They're so fucking oblivious, too, and Sam doesn't think anybody really knows how annoyed he actually is with the entire situation. He just can't understand what the hell is so difficult about it. It's not rocket science.

Dean likes Cas. Cas likes Dean.

Simple as that.

And, _yet_...

They don't _do_ anything about it...or if they do, it's out of reach of prying eyes.

Sam is pretty fucking sure they each know the other likes him and he's not sure why they're holding back but whatever the reason, Sam's gonna find a way to get them together. Somehow.

Simply for his own sake, so Meg and Charlie will shut their fucking traps and so Sam doesn't have to deal with another evening watching them undress eachother with their eyes.

He'll get them together. If it's the last thing he does, if it takes his dying breath.

They will be together, and Meg and Charlie will stop fucking whining and Dean and Cas can actually undress eachother instead of pining with their chins in their hands, gazing doe-eyed and wistful across the table.

As he rolls this all around in his head, he cleans the glasses in a mechanic way, the motions familiar but so inexplicably not soothing, and he doesn't hear the footsteps that alert him to a customer's approach.

The man clears his throat and Sam's head whips up, man-bun wagging like the tail of an excited puppy. He expects an impatient patron but finds only Castiel, sitting uncomfortably, bashfully in the bar stool, squirming and worrying his lip, and Sam remembers it's after hours so of course it's not a customer.

"Hey, Cas, where's Dean?" Sam raises a brow at the lack of Dean hanging on to Cas like a fat kid with a candy bar.

"Hm? Oh, he's...he went outside...smoke... yeah," Cas mumbles almost unintelligibly and Sam brings his eyebrows down in patient expectancy.

But Cas doesn't speak again so he asks anyway, to get the ball rolling.

"And? You need anything? A shot or something? Maybe I can funnel five beers down your throat so you're drunk and stupid enough to actually make a move...I mean, do..." He pauses as he shoves a glass back in the cabinet and straightens the apron dangling from his hips before continuing, "something...you know? Kinda tired of watching you guys sex it up with your eyes. No point in watching from afar when you both like eachother."

Cas' cheeks just keep getting progressively more pink and by the time Sam's done speaking, they're a rather lurid shade of magenta that Sam's not sure he's ever seen on anyone.

"What do you mean?" Cas squeaks and the squirming is getting annoying as all fuck so Sam calmly sets his current glass down and rests his hand on Cas' shoulder, effectively making him aware of his movements.

"You can't tell me you don't see it," Sam pulls his brows in and up in genuine bafflement as Cas shakes his head aggressively. "Dear lord - Cas. Dean has a huge fucking gay crush on you and you have one on him and everyone is sick of you two acting like there's nothing there, avoiding talking about it or doing anything about it. Dude, I see the way you smile differently when he's around and you guys have been hanging out more and more lately. And, Christ, how long have you known eachother?"

"Since...about...month before the we-" Cas cuts himself off in a mock coughing fit and Sam rolls his eyes.

"Yeah the wedding. Look, it stings, but I can handle it," Sam balances the second glass on top of the other in the cabinet and brings the towel down to wipe his hands off, then leans over the bar, hand still clutching the towel as his fingers fist against the black granite. "Okay, so...before the wedding. Nine and a half years. That's...that's a pretty long time. A decent amount for someone to get to know someone. And you guys kind of hit it off, what, two years ago, about a month after that night at the restaurant..."

Cas winces slightly and Sam almost regrets mentioning it, but Cas is the one to apologise, not for the first time.

"Yeah, sorry about...that...I don't know what I was thinking and I'm pretty sure I was little drunk and probably looking for a piece of my brother. 'Mean, probably tried to find it in you..."

"Cas, I don't care. It's in the past and...and it's not like I didn't think about that too. We were both still mourning and we were both still searching for...for some kind of lingering...residue of Gabe, and we momentarily thought we would be able to get that with eachother and...whatever. It's nothing. Right now, I want to concentrate on you and Dean because holy shit, are you two oblivious idiots."

Cas pushes his jaw out to the side in a shy, annoyed kind of confirmation and Sam chuckles.

A moment of silence and the light squeal of the towel on another glass, the high buzz of the the fluorescent lighting fixtures.

Cas sighs almost dramatically and rests his elbows on the bar, and his chin in his hands, eyes aimed downward, following the movements of Sam's hand on the glass.

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Sam. You're the expert in Winchester-Novak connection," Cas mutters and Sam smiles faintly down at his hand tucked into the towel, circling away at the glass.

"Not exactly an expert, but...Cas, look. Dean is a pretty...straightforward guy...usually. Not about his feelings but if you're doing something wrong, he'll call you out on it...and so far, I haven't heard him scolding you for staring longingly at him or scooting innocuously closer to him when you guys share one side of a booth. So that's saying something, at least," Sam sets down the glass and sighs, leaning back against back counter and hanging his head against one of the closed cabinets. "My point is, just tell him. Or, if that's really so fucking hard, just kiss him. I know you're not the flirty type. God knows that was Gabe's job-" eye roll, "-but if you can't say it, just do it. And if he turns you down, he's going to do it gently because I think even if he doesn't like you the way everyone thinks he likes you, he definitely still wants you as a friend."

"'Just friends' is something I've never been all that good at, Sam," Cas raises his eyebrows, arches in dark, shadowed hills above his blue eyes that are the sea, and Sam tilts his head with a smile.

"I know. And Dean's practically the King of 'just friends'. And I'm sorry, in advance, if he does reject you...but...Cas, I..." Sam breathes in, mulling over his words and picking them out very carefully. It's a special event and he doesn't want to show up in rags. "I just...think he really, really likes you and that there is about a point o' three percent chance that he'll turn you down."

This earns him a short chuckle and he smiles proudly to himself. One of the heavy main entrance doors clicks open and Dean saunters in, rolling his head on his neck as he approaches and grinning broad and stupid when he catches Cas's eyes with his own.

Sam watches the silent exchange for a second and waits until Dean flops down into the barstool beside Cas to push up off the back wall and whisper, "Go get 'em, tiger."

He smirks at the aggressive blush this brings to Cas' cheeks and walks to the other end of the bar to give them some privacy.

He watches Cas' face turn bright fuschia at something Dean's said and suppresses a sigh of his own.

A moment later, Charlie is wandering over from her project fiddling with the sounds system so the bass is louder and the voices don't hiss, which hasn't actually been reported by the customers as a problem, but rather has been annoyance for Sam and Jody.

Charlie shoots him a toothy grin as she meanders around a table and then leans against the bar across from him.

"So how's the brother matching going?"

"They're so fucking stupid and it annoys the hell out of me but I love them both so there's nothing I can really do about it."

Charlie laughs, sweet and high pitched and rainbows and sunshine and everything Sam loves about her.

She peeks over Sam's shoulder for a second and her eyebrows move up a little, not really enough for most other people to notice, and she opens her mouth again.

"Well, I think whatever you said to Cas finally slapped some sense into him," she quips and points one manicured nail behind Sam, who turns around and breathes out a short laugh at the sight.

"Huh...I guess it did," he murmurs watching as Dean's surprised, rigid pose sinks into a more comfortable one and his hand comes up to Cas' cheek.

The kiss looks rather shy, but, really, what more can he expect for now.

He turns back around to Charlie, a satisfied look masking his face and an auspicious smirk attached to the red-head's lips too.

And maybe everything would turn out right after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am redoing this entire fic so it has chapters instead of one long thing because I'm trying to figure why it's not getting hits idk

**_ Two years and three months ago _ **

"Sammy!" Dean's voice is welcoming, warm. He loves his brother, his little Sammy. Has always been there to protect him from everything and Dean feels guilty as all hell for not being there for him as much as he could have been after Gabriel died.

Gabriel was Sam's life; it was so obvious to anyone who even glanced that they were in love, dedicated heart and soul and tooth and nail to eachother and it was hard for everyone when Gabriel died. Even Dean kinda liked the dude. He was good. He was good for Sammy and Sammy was happy and that's all Dean wants for him.

And he hated Gabriel for a while because he left. Because he was gone, and Sam hadn't a clue where he'd run off to, and he got better with Jess but he wasn't happy. Content, maybe. But not happy. Not like he had been with Gabriel.

But then Gabriel came back and Dean still kind of hated him for what he'd done but Sam was happy again, and that was all that mattered.

Then Gabriel died, and it was like the entire world was empty. Sam didn't talk to him, didn't answer the goddamn phone for a month straight after the funeral. And Dean got worried, but Jess kept him up to date most of the time. Meg, too, who'd become another one of Sam's best friends and who Cas had a strange attachment to.

Cas. He was a big part of Sam's life, too, in those months after the funeral, and Dean was so inexplciably jealous because Cas is kind of beautiful, if he's being honest, and it's not like he's never been with a guy. He was jealous then. And still now.

Right now. Right. He's talking to Sam. He'd called to apologise for not being able to make it to the dinner with everyone last night.

He was busy at the studio, swiping paint rather indignantly across a .9 by 2 metre canvas, pining over Cas and sulking about his brother's life. Because that's a thing that Dean does. He spares no regard for his own life and puts everything into Sammy.

Shit, Sammy. Talking to him. Right.

" _...don't know when it would happen but I guess it's a thing now_ ," Sam mumbles through the phone and Dean can hear that he seems preoccupied so he doesn't bother asking him to reiterate. 

"Sounds good, Sammy," Dean says into the mic and plops down on the decrepit old beige-and-rose striped couch in the corner of Bobby's garage.

" _Dean, what did I just tell you? It's Sam. You stopped calling me Sammy years ago._ "

"Oh, I did, did I? Well I guess my brain didn't get that memo. When would that have been anyway? Hm?"

" _Dean, can we not start this right now?_ "

"Oh, what's that? All I heard was 'when I left you for college, Dean. Left you with dad and a broken heart and some man-tears'. Is that what you said? Because that's what I heard."

" _Dean..._ "

He sounds so exhausted and, not for the first time and definitely not for the last, Dean's heart shatters. He hadn't meant to make this into one of those phone calls and he hadn't meant to take his own stress out on Sam, who already has so many things to deal with that it's not even close to fair.

So he slumps in his seat and sets his beer down on a gun-metal coloured tool stand and fixes his gaze on an oil stain on the floor and then a splotch of red paint accompanied by streaks of white and purple around the knee of his jeans and tries calming himself.

"Sammy - I mean, Sam..." He breathes out and hangs his head. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...sorry. I just...God, Sam, you're so sad all the time. I'm not blaming you. God knows this is pretty damn far from your fault. But I'm just...I miss havin' you around. It's been a year Sam. And I know...I know he was your entire life and hell yes, that takes forever to get over. But I miss you. You know? Didn't mean...sorry."

Sam is silent for a moment and Dean hopes he didn't hang up. But then Sam breathes in, half sniffle, half getting ready to say something.

" _It's fine. I'm fine. Everything is okay, I just..._ " Sam pauses and Dean can imagine him swallowing, looking down, then sideways. Because that's what Sam does when he's nervous or someone's just told him off. " _I kissed Cas._ "

"What." It comes out harsher than he meant, but who can blame a guy. Cas is gorgeous in more ways than one and Dean's not exactly straight.

" _I didn't...look, I was tipsy, we both were. I think...I think I didn't have my head on straight and he was being really sweet, telling me he has a kind of crush on me, has since he met me, and I just...I just kind of leaned in. It wasn't...it wasn't an actual kiss, I kissed him on the cheek. Let him down gently because I thought...I thought maybe when I got better we could have something but I realised I was really just looking for..._ " Sam's voice cracks and he breathes in a gasping breath and Dean's heart speeds up to an inhuman level, always so ready to protect Sammy. " _Looking for...a piece of Gabe in him. I think, for a single, stupid moment, I thought that maybe...maybe having him around would be like having Gabe around and I just...I'm sorry Dean. I know how much you like him and I didn't do it to hurt you. I wasn't thinking._ "

He knows? What? How the fuck...how could he possibly know. They haven't talked about anything that has to do with the Novak family even when Dean takes Sam to restaurants or just out, just to get him out of that dark, dusty apartment where all his memories are and maybe forget about everything for a while. Is he really that obvious?

"I--"

" _And don't you dare try to tell me you don't like him like that because I'm Sam, and I know for a fact that you do. Sam Winchester sees everything, you fucker._ "

Dean sits there, speechless and shocked, one, because Sam knows, and two, because Sam, little innocent Sammy - who's vocabulary ranges from curse words in two dead languages to some pretty long, complicated words that only lawyers and doctors use - his baby brother, still despondent and wrecked...just called him a fucker.

This day is not going as planned.

"Um...okay, well...uuuhhh...I..." Dean stumbles and stutters and finally gives up, pressing out a contemplative breath. "Okay, look, I like him, alright? He's cute and funny and smart, almost as genius as you, and that's not the problem right now, okay?"

" _It is the problem, though, Dean. Why the hell do you think I told you? Because I know you like him and I didn't want to keep it a secret for you to find out about later and yell at me for._"

"I'm not talking about this with you."

A deep sigh and some rustling. 

" _Fine. Then let's talk about Cas's birthday--_ "

Dean's beer crashes to the floor and a few of the other mechanics look up, and Bobby's head slides out slowly from around the doorframe, eyebrow cocked.

He had been about to grab the beer but as soon as Sam said that, his brain collapsed for a moment and he forgot what he was doing and the beer went flying off the drawer-stand.

" _What the hell was that?_ "

"Nothing, nothing, it's...everything's fine. Some idiot just dropped a flat head--"

" _Dean, that sounded like glass--_ "

"Everything's fine, I'm just at the garage and one of the dumbasses who work here--"

" _Dean I don't think--_ "

"--just dropped a screwdriver, it's fine."

There's a long rope of silence that hangs between them, each end a noose swinging over their heads and Dean closes his eyes and waves Bobby off with a gentle hand and a quick shake of his head.

Power tools buzz and growl a few metres away and someone shouts across three stations at someone else and they shout back and Dean thinks he hears one of the women scoffing and he's sure the guys were yelling about something rather innapropriate.

" _Dean, did you knock your beer off the table again?_ " Sam's voice comes soft and gentle, carrying like a butterfly through the thick, metallic grind and scrape and click of the echoing garage.

"Possibly."

" _Dean._ "

"Yeah."

" _Why?_ "

He sighs and sinks lower into his seat, pressing his thumb and index fingers to his eyes and then dragging them in to the bridge of his nose.

"I just forgot that was soon, I guess."

" _You know what your present should be to him?_ "

"Oh, God. What."

" _You should be there. That's it, Dean. He called me earlier today, really apologetic about last night and then he admitted that I'm kind of like you, kind of a mix of you and...and Gabe..._ " Sam's voice breaks again. " _And he thought he saw both of you in me. I think he likes you, Dean. Like, a lot._ "

"Look, Sammy, I--"

" _Dean. Just hear me out. I know you think you shouldn't be around me right now, and I know your reasons and I know you're scared that you're somehow gonna trigger some sort of mental break down for me. But you won't and I trust that fact completely. So just...just be here. Okay? Just...take a break from...sulking in the garage or at the studio, you know?_ "

"Yeah...yeah, okay, whatever," Dean replies, still shaken by the thought that Castiel might actually like him back.

" _Dean--_ "

"Yeah, I'll be there, okay?"

" _Okay..._ "

Long pause. Breathing on the other end. The clank of metal against concrete as someone tosses a wrench to the ground. The grating screech of an industrial grade power tool.

" _...I love you, Dean. I miss you - we...we miss you. Me and Jess and Meg and Cas. We all love you. I...I love you._ "

Dean closes his eyes and smiles softly, knowing damn well Sam can't see it.

"I know, Sammy. Miss you guys too. And...and I love you," he shakes his head, not believing his own words, not believing that he's actually saying them.

" _I'll talk to you later._ "

"Okay. Bye, Sammy."

" _It's Sam_ ," Sam repeats but Dean can hear his grin. And he can tell it's genuine. And he loves his brother a lot.

And then Dean's sitting with his eyes on the phone in his lap and empty hands and a kind of awful sadness that someone gets when someone they love is hurting.

And a flicker, a spark in his heart, that only captures his attention momentarily before he's back to sulking.


	3. Chapter 3

**_ Now _ **

Dean remembers that. Remembers that time, that singular second a billion years ago when he first felt - actually felt - something...for Cas. At the time, he hadn't a clue what it was, just brushed it off as one of the many fleeting emotions that he constantly pushes down.

Thoughts and emotions and everything strange race through his head as he brings the cigarette to his lips again, scowling suddenly when he thinks about how he should stop. Not good for his lungs and it probably doesn't taste great when he's kissing someone.

This leads him back to Cas, as every thought does these days, it seems. It's terrifying and thrilling to know he likes someone this much and he's been awfully jumpy lately. He's pretty sure Sam's noticed.

Maybe a few other people.

It doesn't matter, though. He left them all inside and walked out here to smoke and now he's doing that and he kind of hates himself for it for various reasons, the main one being is that this time - this silent, leaves rustling, distant car rumbling, strange shoe scraping, dog a street over barking, time - leaves him with only his thoughts and that can sometimes get dangerous. He's got nothing better to do though, cigarette in one hand, other hand in his pocket, and the eerie silence of the mid-August night slinking in and draping itself around his shoulders like a blanket as he watches the blonde moon glow ethereal blue when the sun's effervescent flames bore themselves into the crater's pores, working together to throw the perfect shadows across his eyes as he searches the freckled stars.

He hates it.

But he kind of loves it too.

He hates being away from Cas. Loves being able to lean in and whisper something dirty and watch Cas get all flustered and drop something or start fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

He hates that he's left alone with his thoughts. Loves that they always end up circling back to _Cas_ , things _Cas_  loves and things _Cas_  is passionate about and things _Cas_  does. Always _Cas_.

He hates that he's probably killing himself slowly. Loves the feeling of the smoke sifting through the browning filter of the cigarette and then misting into his lungs, drowning his brain in a buzzed kind of bliss. He can always imagine it dropping through his airways and into his lungs and then circling and spreading and curling like smoke sometimes does in a beautiful way.

He hates the cold, the crisp breeze of a NorCal autumn. Loves the sting of it on his stubbled jaw and it's bite at the tops of his ears and the very tip of his nose, loves the way it tries so hard to be menacing and ends up crashing and burning.

He hates that he can't seem to say something to Cas, just fucking say something about how he feels. Loves that Cas seems to know anyway, loves that Cas isn't flirty and that he can make Cas blush so easily, loves the way Cas sometimes starts blinking rapidly because one of his contacts has fallen out of place, loves the feeling of sparkling energy when it runs through his veins every time they so much as brush hands, loves Cas' sense of humour and his laugh, so much lighter and prettier than his gravelly, chesty voice, loves how Cas can't pronounce the word cavalry correctly, loves the way Cas spaces out every once in a while because he gets caught up in his own little world, loves the way Cas worries his lip when he's deep in thought, loves the way Cas refuses to get rid of this one warm grey sweater that hangs way past his hips and flops around his hands because it was his dad's and as much as he claims he hates his dad, he's definitely sentimental, loves the way Cas's feet kick lightly at his own shins beneath the table when they're talking about something mundane and how they come up to rest on his knees when they're talking about something wonderful, loves the way Cas seems to find the whole smoking thing kind of hot, loves the way Cas' nose twitches when he sniffles; all these random fucking things that seem so inane to other people but get to Dean so easily.

He loves Cas.

Holy. Fucking. Motherofjesusfuck, son-of-a-fucking-bitch-Christ-and-Mary-and-Joseph-shit-fucking-fuck.

Dean.

Loves.

Cas.

He can't believe he's finally admitting it. He can't believe he's actually thinking it. He can't believe he's been so fucking oblivious. Such an ass, too. Made a total idiot of himself.

Castiel has been there, right in front of him, the entire time, and all the while Dean's been fucking around with other guys, trying to drown out the sinking feeling that came with thinking Cas didn't like him the same way.

He chucks the cigarette down to the ground and stubs it out with the heel of his work boot, new resolve rising. He swears he sees the moon flicker as his confidence brightens.

He can do this.

He's Dean.

He's Dean Winchester.

He is Dean fucking Winchester and damn it all if he can't ask a guy out.

He pushes the front door open.


	4. Chapter 4

**_ A year and eleven months ago _ **

Dean can't believe how well Cas' birthday went. Even four months after it happened, he just...can't understand how it went so well.

Cas had greeted him, Sam and a few people from Master's Strip Club, too, and then Jess, who had run up to him and jumped into his arms and Dean remembers how he caught her and swung her around like a pretty child in her father's arms because, if Dean's being honest, Jess is just as much a sister to him as Charlie.

Charlie, who sits to the right of him with her right hand wrapped around Meg's waist, and Meg, who's right side is currently flanked by Pam and Bobby and Ellen (all three of which kind of have a strange thing going on - a thing that Jo continually scoffs at and complains about). Jo sits around the corner of the table to Cas's left, who sits to Dean's left, on the same side as Dean, and who is, for whatever unfathomable reason, leaning strangely closer to Dean every second and who is making Dean very tingly and Dean feels rather guilty because he doesn't think Cas really knows how he makes Dean feel. Sam brackets Jo's left and Cas' uncle Balthazar - who is thoroughly shit-faced at this point - sits to Sam's left, across from Bobby and the two women who cling to him. Jody sits left of Balthazar, across from Dean and Cas at the other end of the table, and rolls her eyes at her daughter, Claire, who sits beside her, tapping away at a phone.

Dean tunes in to the rather zealous conversation about whether Harry Potter really belonged in Gryffindor or Slytherin and how, if he had been selected for Slytherin, the entire story would have been affected. The civilised debate has been confined to Charlie, Jo, Sam, and Balthazar, and Meg only watches the back and forth with intrigue, breaking only once in a while to smile wolfishly at Dean or partake in a much less heated, smaller exchange with the other's sitting at the table, or to kiss Charlie on shoulder when she makes very strong point.

Dean beams contentedly at the domesticity of it all; at the way Sam's smile has begun to turn genuine more often than not; at the way Charlie speaks with her hands and performs huge, flourishing motions as she makes another animated argument about Harry being an important asset in the way Gryffindor house functions; at the way Balthazar twirls his fifth red wine around as he contemplates Charlie's ecstatic contention; at the way Bobby snorts and guffaws about something Pam has said and the way Ellen mentions offhand a story about Jody and a customer relating to whatever Bobby is currently swiping at his eye about; at the way Claire scoffs at her mother's apparent wildness 'back in her day'; at the way Cas releases a gummy smile every now and again - one that makes Dean feel as though he might pass out - and nods at Charlie to keep her going because he's about as much a geek as she and Sam are but then returns his attention to Dean who speaks in a low voice to him about his theory about angels and Lucifer and God even though he doesn't believe in any of it. At the boisterousness of the entire party and at the way the other patrons in the diner either give them exasperated looks or laugh under their breath at some of their more innapropriate comments.

Dean grins at the absurdity of it and at Cas, who's now pounding down his eighth shot because, holy fuck, that cute little nerd can hold is liquor. Dean notices the amount of alcohol it takes to even get him buzzed (three shots) and how it's making him bolder and bolder; making him butt in on the Harry Potter discussion every few minutes to lay out his own theories - at which the other's in the discussion seem to become mind-blown and bewildered and begin to internally deliberate everything they know; making him sway a bit in his seat.

Dean chuckles low and soft at Cas, who snaps his attention back to him and smiles brazenly, hand coming to rest on Dean's knee beneath the table.

Dean takes in a sharp breath and Cas furrows his brows at him, tilting his head in apparent confusion, before returning to normal, leveling to a small smile.

"Thank you, Dean," he says in that gravelly fucking voice that gets Dean's fingers tingling and his cheeks burning.

Dean breathes out another chuckle and scrubs at the top of his neck, dropping his gaze.

"Whatever for?" He replies in mock formality, laughing a bit awkwardly.

"For getting us all together like this. I know Sam appreciates you being here and I think your presence really...creates this kind of barrier...between him and what..." Cas' voice breaks and falls off at the memory of his brother. "Well, you know."

"Yeah...yeah I guess, I..." Dean glances up and gets caught in the depths of his sparkling eyes, bright and vibrant despite the alcohol. Dean's noticed how he doesn't seem to look at any of the others the way he does at Dean, not even Sam, and just _that_  makes him feel so much guiltier, but so warm and free at the same time.

Neither look away and a smile creeps back up into Cas's lips, his eyes crinkling a little in the corners, and Dean thinks his entire world just crumbled.

He's so screwed.

 

\----------

_** A year and four months ago ** _

Cas has asked him to a bar.

Alone.

Just the two of them.

This could go horribly wrong or terribly right, and Dean isn't sure which he thinks he would prefer.

Maybe he does want it to go wrong because he's almost sure Sam likes Cas...as more than a friend. But he also really, really wants it to go well because he likes Cas too. And it's just awfully inconsiderate of Cas to be so sweet to Dean, to act the way he does around Dean, kind of flustered and blush-y without alcohol, and rather handsy and smiley with it.

He reminds himself, as he sprays cologne at the base of his throat and rakes his fingers through the spikes in his bangs - which are getting to be longer than he cares to admit to liking - that this is most definitely not a date.

He finds himself, in fact, scoffing at the notion that it could be. Why would Cas ask him on a date?

Besides, it was never even implied that this was that, and he doesn't dare invite himself to say that it is.

He purses his lips in the mirror and just hopes Cas has the initiative to call it what he wants because Dean is certainly not pushing the idea that there could actually be something between them.

He takes another deep breathe, for the billionth time this evening, and slips his brown leather jacket, worn and a bit frayed at the hems, over his plain black v-neck t-shirt and checks that his dark blue jeans aren't rumpled after slipping on his boots.

Really nothing estranged from what he usually wears, just slightly less ratty and paint/oil stained. And there's no grease smudges on his face or sky blue and pastel purple marring his arms and hands in streaks and splatters.

A few minutes later, the Impala rumbles her way into the parking lot of probably one of the fanciest bars he's ever been witness to and he raises his eyebrows in quiet contempt for his usually laid back but upbeat, hole-in-the-wall, sleaze and cheap beer bars that pound out ridiculous modern rap songs and Rihanna and some great classic rock and which he frequents weekly, and he blanches at the idea that this bar is easily the most calm, probably expensive, one he's been and will be in in his entire life. He prepares himself for the worst.

He enters, immediately feeling awkward and out of place among the other very obviously high profile, big money customers, who either eye him with amused curiousity or appraising scepticism, or ignore him completely, either unfased by his presense or far too caught up in their empty, corybantic discussions about the weather and celebrities they've indubitably met in some way or another as they sip daintily on their stupid, fruity drinks.

Dean spots Cas sitting at a tall, black table, farther away from the dapper drone of the droll, meaningless words of the other patrons, and he smiles at Cas' slight scowl as the other man stares down at the menu.

Apparently Cas has at least a bit of implicit disdain for the rich and righteous. Still not as much as Dean though.

At least, that's was Dean thinks right up until Cas looks up suddenly and catches his eye, smiles, then glances over at the crowd of sheep and flicks his eyes back to Dean only to roll them.

Dean smirks and starts toward him, ignoring the way one woman glares and her friend scoffs rather dramatically, seeming almost offended by Dean's very existence.

All his attention is focused on Cas who smiles bright and broad as Dean takes a seat across from him and rests his forearms on the table. He mouths a 'wow' at Cas, who covers his mouth with his hand as he grins wider. "I know. Almost regret choosing this place, but it was the first thing that came to mind because some of my college buddies and I used to spend Saturday nights here," Cas explains and Dean gives him a kind of impressed look, at which Cas's cheeks go scarlet and he shrugs. "What? My family is well-off and I kind of just fell into the rich kid crowd because I felt like I had to. Don't worry, though, I spent some secret time with the geeks and book-worms, too. I fit in more easily win them."

"I would expect," Dean chuckles and watches Cas' eyes gleam, watches the soft bite of his lip. 

"I like it when you laugh," Cas says it so quietly, Dean's not completely sure he heard right but the adoration and trepidation in his eyes says otherwise.

And Dean just kind of stares, eyebrows raised and lips parted.

"Excuse my boldness, I may have already had two or three drinks," Cas adds with a sly smile, eyes still dropping to the table in shyness.

"How long have you been here? I didn't mean to keep you waiting--"

"No, no, I promise you didn't," his smile turns slightly shameful and Dean tilts his head. "I was only here for, like, seven minutes before you got here."

And Dean understands the shame in his smile because people don't usually down two martinis in under ten minutes, especially not at a place like this.

He shakes his head and replies, laughing, "You're kinda hilarious, Cas" at which Castiel's eyelids flutter and his hands begin fumbling with the edges of his dark burgundy sweater, that also currently matches the colour of his cheeks.

He mumbles a thanks and drops his head.

Dean lowers his own, tilting it, trying to catch Cas' eye and eventually just reaching over and tilting Cas' chin up and internally flushing at the surprised face Cas makes and the way the bright blues of his eyes are reduced to a progressively thinner and thinner ring around his pupils as they blow up.

Dean gets momentarily caught up in those eyes, feeling his own pupils dilate, and he still hasn't removed his fingers from Cas chin and they kind of develop a mind of their own start tracing back over Cas' jaw and his thumb plays across Cas's lower lip and--

He comes to his senses and pulls his hand back with sharp breath as his eyes fall to the table and he gulps. After a moment of composing himself and some much deserved internal chastising, his eyes meander back upward and catch on Cas's. "Sorry, I--" "It's okay," Cas whispers, shaking his head imperceptibly, blinking a few times. "It's...fine." "I was just--" "Dean, if you don't shut up about it, I _will_  yell something obscene and get us kicked out of here." 

Seems a little brash but Dean knows he's only joking. Plays along, small smile crinkling his eyes.

"That actually doesn't sound like a terrible idea," he replies quietly, not quite a whisper, but still cloaked in the shadow of secrecy.

For a long moment, Cas only stares, eyes squinting slightly, brows knit down over them, and Dean thinks maybe he's said the wrong thing and his big fucking mouth got him in trouble again, and his smile falters slightly.

But then Cas cracks the same small smile Dean is wearing and whispers back, voice warm and soft as a child's, "Are you making fun of my taste in bars, Dean Winchester?"

"Possibly," Dean struggles to keep down his smile and holds Castiel's amused gaze.

"Do you really want to get out of here that badly?"

"I'd prefer to take advantage of the presense of alcohol and get drunk off my ass before they kick us out for being too loud."

"Deal," Cas agrees and with that, he hops off his stool and makes his way through the crowd to the bar, where Dean watches him order not two, but seven shots of straight Jack. Dean's eyes follow the line of his finger tapping his cheek as he waits and then wander shamelessly down around his arm and across to his waist, and then further downward, all the way to his feet, which are now shuffling steadily back toward him.

He whips his eyes up and sees Cas' fingers easily wrapped around three glass cups and the other hand balancing four and then sees Cas's eyes watching first the glasses and then him as he sets them down on the table very carefully.

Dean helps him with the four, taking two in each hand and settling them in the centre of the black glossed plastic.

He purses his lips inward as he stares at the seven shots, furrows his brows, then twitches his eyes up to Cas, whose cocky grin takes him by a bit more than surprise.

"Seven?"

"I've already had two cosmos and one of these, so five are for you and two are for me," he explains and Dean's eyebrows shoot up at 'cosmos'. "Vodka?" He asks out of shock and amusement rather than disgust. "Didn't peg you for it, Cas."

Cas blushes and slides two of the glasses toward him, not looking at Dean as he downs one and tries not to slam it down on the table. His hand shakes slightly and he seems to be trying to hide it and Dean smirks at how buzzed Cas must be, though he's maybe a bit worried.

Dean throws three of them back in less than ten seconds and Cas just laughs, lilting and clear and soothing over the jump and curve of some kind of high-strung, electric-buzz-and-pounding-bass song that lacks any words besides short cuts of possibly newscasters speaking or what sounds like an outtake from an operatic voice singing simple vowels.

Dean tilts his head and listens, trying to define what kind of music this could possibly be and Cas leans over, lips so fucking close to his ear, brushing it even, and whispers, "It's called dubstep. Some of the richer people in the U.S. who party more like this as dance music instead of the rap and other stuff you would usually hear at the bars you're probably used to."

Dean nods and turns his head to face Cas and then Cas' face is still right there and his heart just fucking stops. Just quits beating and he can't breathe. Can't remember how to make his diaphragm move. Can't remember how to put air back in his lungs. His chest is too tight. And it's not moving. And Cas's smile fades to parted lips and they just...they just stare at eachother.

Dean closes his lips and swallows thickly and then let's them part again because why the hell not.

A few polite cheers and whoops from across the bar break their gazes and they whip their heads in the direction of the noise, their eyes scanning until they find the source of it.

A group of young women, maybe mid to late twenties, have their eyes trained on two other men, sitting at a table not from from the crowd, who've entangled themselves in eachother and are currently making out, completely unaltered by the applaud of the ladies and possibly a few other men, too.

Dean turns back to Cas, face still impossibly close to his, and whispers, "Now that's just gross."

A smile wanders onto Cas' lips and he turns back too, eyes still bright but unsure.

"Absolutely disgusting," he replies quietly, leaning ever forward and anxiety slams up Dean's stomach and makes it lurch with heat.

Oh shit. He can't kiss Cas. He can't. Because Sam likes him, and Cas is supposed to like Sam and damnit they're so fucking close together now and Dean doesn't think he could stop it even if he wanted to because fuck it all if those light pink lips aren't the most welcoming thing in Dean's admittedly fuzzy sight right now.

Their lips barely brush before even more cheers interrupt them and they pull back and turn to find the girls' eyes on them this time and Cas' cheeks turn a lurid shade of scarlet and Dean ducks his head away and scrubs a hand over his mouth, eyes drawn.

Fuck.

What has he done.


	5. Chapter 5

**_ Ten months ago _ **

He's still in shock.

His heart still races at the thought of it, he can still feel Dean's lips brushing his if only for the shortest of moments. He can still sense Dean's unsureness and how awkward he must have felt.

And, God, they would have kissed if it hadn't been for that stupid cheering. Or maybe Dean would have pushed him away, would have told him to go back to Sam, would have admitted that he meant it when he found the two other men kissing to be gross, would have said that Cas was stupid and foolish and sent him on his way.

He probably would have.

In spite of Dean seeming like he enjoys Cas the way Cas enjoys him, Cas will always have these doubts, will always tell himself he's not good enough or that Dean simply isn't...the same as him.

Sam hasn't even crossed his mind since Cas realised he may like Dean a lot more than he should, but Sam does still talk to him, and he's mentioned off-handedly that he's perfectly content with Cas aspiring to be with Dean, that he never exactly had really strong feelings for Cas anyway (which Cas kind of frowned at but didn't think much of).

And the only thing Dean seems to be holding back about is the absurd idea that Cas still thinks of Sam as more than a friend.

And Cas understands that Dean doesn't want to hurt his brother, but neither Cas nor Sam care to be the one to try and convince him otherwise.

Dean is stubborn and ridiculous and both Sam and Cas agree that that is the most terrible combination of personally traits that someone could possibly have.

But Sam's lived his entire life with it, and Cas has only been around it on a regular basis for less than three years.

Don't get him wrong, he loves it. Loves the way Dean makes up his mind and then doesn't change it unless physically proven otherwise (and even then, he's sometimes doubtful).

That's why Cas almost kissed him - was going to kiss him.

"I can tell you're in your own little world, Castiel," Balthazar's Australian accent whirls him from his thoughts and back into the present and he glances up at his uncle, who holds up his wine glass in unrequited cheers.

"I almost kissed him," he blurts, quiet but unashamed. "Dean. Almost. Almost did."

If Balthazar is surprised, it doesn't show. He only twirls his wine, pursing his lips outward as he stares at the blood red liquid for a moment.

"Seems that bad things happen when Novaks interact with Winchesters--"

"You're really going to blame Sam for his death, Bal?"

He doesn't answer. Twirls his wine, lips sealed.

"Bal, you realise Sam did nothing wrong. That semi truck ran straight through the stop--"

"I know...what happened. It was all over the news," his eyes tear up for a moment. "Including that...damn picture of Gabriel - you know, I don't know who the hell gave consent for that, but..."

Silence. Slightly unsteady breathing. Hiss of the mini fridge in the corner.

"So you're not blaming him?" Quiet and broken.

"I'm not blaming Sam...for anything. Only making commentary. I seem to recall your father having known their mother a few years before he died," he knits his brows together and frowns at his wine and adds, "Of course, so did she..."

"I think both our families just have bad luck, and, for whatever reason, people with bad luck are drawn to eachother. Ya know? Something to relate to."

Balthazar finally looks up at Cas and tilts his head in that curious way it seems his entire family does, and adds a soft smile.

"I think you're just saying that because you're in love with Dean and you need an excuse to defend him from your uncle's snark, yeah?"

Castiel sighs and sinks further into his chair, throwing back the last of his beer in one long pull and slamming it down - the short pitch of tin hitting wood ringing through the air - raking his fingers through his hair, staring down at the coffee table on top of which Bal's feet rest, crossed at the ankles.

He nods, glancing up at his uncle, who's blonde hair has grown warm and sliver-grey at his temples, and who's laugh lines have become more defined along with the crinkles in his forehead and spreading out from the corners of his silvery, sky blue eyes, still so bright, so youthful. But so wise, mature, careful.

And Cas has a sudden thought that he loves his uncle. Loves his entire family, really. But he thinks, now with Gabe gone, he loves his uncle most.

And he feels strange, thinking about who he loves most. People don't just choose who they love most in their family; they just love and are loved in return and that's that. But Cas - he's always been...different. He thinks, he never really loved his father, even as a child. Never really got the chance to. He loved his mother, but in a different way from how he loved his brothers - more distant, less comfortable. He definitely loved - loves - his brothers. But the odd part is, he has an order in which he loves them. Gabe was first, then Luc, then Mike. And now that Gabe is gone, Bal's kind of replaced him.

Not completely. Never completely. No one will ever be able to even come close to scratching the surface of replacing Gabe, of filling his absence and matching his presence.

Gabe smiled and the sky fell. Gabe laughed and stars exploded into existence. Gabe cried and hurricanes destroyed entire countries. Gabe got angry and a sun flare took out the entire northern hemisphere's electric grid. Gabe existed and everything came together so perfectly, and since his death, Castiel has had to stand by and watch the entire world stop spinning and crumble around him, while he falls to his own knees, helpless and hapless and sobbing tears of furiousity and anguish and defeat.

But Bal's been there for him, and he can't thank his uncle enough, so of course he's not going to lie to himself when the man sees right through his ethereally flimsy defence.

"You're kind of ridiculous, you know that?" Cas laughs drily and stands, going to the mini fridge that Bal keeps tucked into the corner of the living room so he doesn't have to walk all the way to the kitchen to find liquor. He pulls out another beer and cracks it open with the loud pop and scrape of the perforated tin sliding away from its snug opening.

Bal points at him with the hand holding his glass, finger lifting from it and his eyebrows raising in what Cas supposes is supposed to be a scolding look.

"You want ridiculous, I can tell you a story from back when I was twenty one and fun," he starts, pausing to gulp the rest of his drink and then set it gingerly beside Cas' empty beer can. "And I feel like you'll enjoy it because it's hilarious and you're in one of those angsty moods."

So much like Gabe. Slightly estranged from most of his family, cocky and unabridged in his rather colourful vocabulary, kind of a wild past filled with glamour and pandemonium and extravagant people who wore glitter and gold and partied on their house yachts in the middle of the Caribbean and woke half naked beside a sleeping stranger surrounded by empty champagne bottles and frilly panties and decapitated Barbie dolls. But behind it all, his true face, the epitome of brave, of noble and kind, deft and stubborn, reckless and caring.

When Cas looks at Bal, when he looked at Gabe, that's where he saw true valour, true modesty and true, unrelenting dauntlessness. Not in soldiers who fought in wars, not in policemen who chased after gun-wielding serial killers, not in firefighters who ran into burning buildings to save guinea pigs, not in superheroes in the Marvel or DC comic books he read as a child, not even in every day people who stopped a robbery at a bank or who helped someone up who'd fallen.

No. Bal and Gabe are the kind of people Jesus would have idolised. They are grace and greatness, they are simple and they are bold, they are so very unwilling to let people in and so very unwilling to let people go. They're so deep and wise and know too much, understand the world better than they're ages dictate they should. They've always abandoned the notion that love can happen twice and that freedom is limited, the notion that they should be defined by actions they take instead of the words they say and that there is a fate in everything and everyone.

They both deviate so incredibly from everything everyone else believes in and they're so extraordinary and Cas thinks...he thinks that's why he loves them. Why he must love Dean. Because that's how Dean is, too. That's the way he was born and Cas thinks maybe he reminds him of Gabe, even though Bal is here.

But that's not the only reason he loves Dean and that's not what he wants to be thinking about right now. He concentrates, instead, on Balthazar's introduction to the story, possibly one he's heard a million times over but won't mind hearing again.

"...and I had gone to visit some friends back in Australia for the summer. Well when I got back, obviously I had to show my American friends some pictures, because they're Americans, and what the fuck do they know about Australia, right?" Cas rolls his eyes. He thinks sometimes Bal forgets that most of his family is American. "Anyway, I was scrolling through the pictures and then I paused on one I liked a bit more than the others for whatever inane reason, and...one of my friends kind of furrowed her eyebrows and looked up at me, and then looked back down at the picture and squinted, got real close, kind of scowled. And all the while, I kept getting more and more confused, because what could be so disconcerting - it was just a picture of me on a couch with my arm around one my high-school buddies - and then I saw it.

"She pointed and looked up and me and said, 'is that a fucking platypus sitting on the couch?' And I had to close my eyes at the absurdity of it, how ridiculous it must have seemed to her because most people in America haven't even seen a platypus in person, much less inside someone's house. And I nodded and laughed under my breath and said 'yes, yes it is' and the bafflement in her eyes was so clear and she replied '...well, what in God's name is doing inside your friend's house?'

"I just chuckled and told her 'that's my friend's pet platypus, darling. They do that sort of thing in Australia' and she just kind of stared and shook her head and told me to move on," he pauses, fiddling with the hem of his dark green v-neck. "Great day, that was," he finishes and stands to find the wine.

Cas only stares up at him in adoration and shakes his head.

"Well that certainly made me feel better," he says without sarcasm and takes a tremendous gulp of beer, nearly finishing it. He remembers, aprubtly, that he's supposed to be driving home but doesn't dote on it. It takes five shots of straight vodka to get him drunk; two beers won't have much of an effect.

"Distract you from your pining, mate?" Bal mumbles as he examines the half empty bottle of Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon, bored appraisal in his eyes, before reaching up to a shelf above the fridge and pulling down a larger glass, then pouring the wine almost to the rim and replugging the bottle. He leans back against the wall, arm crossing over his stomach and elbow coming to rest on top of it as he sips from the glass and raises his eyebrows over it at Cas, who chuckles.

"Yeah, I suppose," he replies, nails scraping at his neck. "I love how stubborn Dean is - I grew up around it, grew up around you-" Balthazar makes an offended sound but Cas knows he enjoys it. "-but that same stubbornness is keeping him from me, and I just..."

"I think you've got yourself stuck in a ditch, there, mate."

"Yeah. No shit."

It's quiet for a moment, the only sound Bal's sipping, the old, vintage lamp's low buzz, the honk of cars in a traffic becoming congested on the city roads far below, the excited yelp of a small dog in the apartment below them.

Cas enjoys these silences because he's able to feel comfortable with them. They aren't awkward, filled with one of them squirming, trying to figure out what the fuck to say next. He can just sit there and enjoy the serenity of the moment, enjoy the fact that he doesn't have that stranger-like barrier between him and his family.

Balthazar speaks anyway, though quiet and sad, kind of broken.

"Do you think he loves you back?"

Cas stares at the couch, at the spot where his uncle was sitting, stares so intently he thinks he may just be able to stare through and find the answer he needs.

But he can't and he doesn't and so he furrows his brows and breathes in, not looking away.

"I think..." He tilts his head and scratches his jaw, fiddles with the tab at the top of his beer, worries his lip between his teeth. "I think he feels something...but isn't exactly sure how to sort it out, isn't sure what the feeling is...or maybe he knows and he thinks...thinks I just want him because he reminds me of Sam or something? Maybe he thinks I still like Sam."

"You should tell him--"

"You know damn well that's not option," Cas still doesn't look up, only unknits his brows and lowers his eyelids, eyes dropping to the empty glass on the coffee table. "You know I can't do that. Anything I say that goes against what he thinks - he won't believe it. He never does, unless it's Sam. He needs physical evidence, and I don't have that. Just...some words and my pleading eyes."

"So get Sam to tell him. Or kiss him. Really kiss him. Like, hard. On the lips. Tongue and everything, yeah?"

Cas snorts and downs the rest of his beer, setting it carefully beside his other can. He finally turns and looks up at Balthazar, an eyebrow raised.

"Didn't I just tell you how I already tried that?"

"No, _you_  said you _almost_  kissed him. Almost. That's different from actually doing it."

"But I was _going to_. That should be enough, right? The thought that I was about to should be able to make him believe that I want to and I just..." He huffs, and pulls his knees to his chest, rests his chin in the canyon between them, lets his eyes fall closed. "God, I'm screwed, aren't I, Bal."

Bal doesn't answer for a long time and when Cas looks up, he's staring at the younger man with eyebrows arched high and arms crossed over his chest. He takes a long sip of wine before opening his mouth again.

"Definitely," he replies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being v lazy and I apologise. None of these chapters have names or summaries and it's simply because I already posted this fic and I don't want to have to take the time to repost it, but I think it's kind of a given because this never got any hits - it's actually ridiculous how few people even viewed it.

_** Now ** _

He rolls his neck then surveys the room and finds Cas isn't in their booth but rather at the bar.

Talking to Sam.

His heart sinks a little bit and his mind wanders back to that time Sam kissed Cas, and it makes him hurt all over but he pushes it away and smiles anyway.

He takes his spot in the barstool right next to Cas, leaning an elbow on the bar and resting his head in his hand as he gazes lovingly at the other man, hoping he'll just fucking notice.

Sam purses his lips inward, probably stifling some kind of shit-eating grin, and then he eyes Cas sideways.

"Go get 'em, tiger," Sam whispers, or Dean thinks he hears Sam whisper. He feels suddenly obnoxiously anxious, doesn't know why Sam would say something like that, doesn't know what he's about to do - probably something stupid - doesn't know how to put his feelings into words. But then Sam is walking away, to the other side of the bar and waving Charlie over.

"So..." Dean breathes out a laugh, mind wandering back to that night at the bar more than a year ago when they almost kissed. They haven't even talked about it since then.

And now, as he begins speaking, every fibre of Cas' attention is focused solely on Dean, never faltering or switching away, not even when Sam clears his throat.

"You've got really pretty eyes," he whispers suddenly and Cas' cheeks bloom bright red, his hand immediately coming up to tug at the hem of his sleeve as his eyes drop.

"I need to tell you something, Dean," he replies, dodging an answer to what Dean's said. His stomach drops and his heart flies to his throat. That could be good or bad.

"Okay," he says slowly, nodding. Cas laughs a bit and pauses, then meets his gaze again.

"So, you're kind of the sweetest guy I've met in a long time and maybe I don't think anyone else is attractive because I'm too busy think you're attractive, and..." Cas starts, never pausing, never missing a beat and Dean's jaw drops to the counter, his eyes going wide as the sun and his eyebrows raising high above them.

"What," he replies weakly, unable to find words or his voice. He clears his throat. "Cas, I--"

"Sam told me how it's apparently very obvious that we like eachother and I still don't believe him, but even if you don't like me the way I like you, I still just need to try one thing, just...something I regret not being able to accomplish about a year ago."

"Cas what are you--"

And then his lips are on Dean's, and they fit together so fucking perfectly and Jesus Christ, Dean is in shock and it's not until their lips slide together that he gives in and softens to the touch of Cas' hand on the back of his neck, fingers shoved up through his hair. Dean reaches up and holds Cas's cheek, because, God, what else can he do?

He feels Sam and Charlie staring but he doesn't care, can't care, won't care, because Cas's lips are so sweet on his and God his brain is on fire right now, every part of him engulfed by the bite of the twirling flames, his lungs burning and sparking and his heart pumping so fast he's not sure whether he's having a heart attack or he's just impossibly excited.

And when they finally pull away from eachother, Dean takes a second before raising his eyes to meet Cas'.

"I probably taste terrible," he whispers and Cas cracks an ecstatic grin, pink lighting up high on his cheeks like a pastel sunset throwing itself across the peaks of twin mountains.

"It probably sounds really fucking weird but I liked it," Cas whispers back, brows twitching together for a moment, and Dean snorts. "The way you taste, I mean. Cigarette smoke isn't supposed to taste nice but...I think you somehow manage to pull it off," he grins, auspicious and gummy and knowing.

"You have a terrible taste in men."

"And you're terrible at holding your liquor."

"And what makes you so special, you nerd."

"I drank a lot when I was a teenager," Cas nods his head, face falling serious, and Dean pulls his brows down like blinds over his eyes.

"I'm sorry," their faces are still so close together and it's barely a whisper, but Cas only shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter now...or maybe it does...if I hadn't, who knows? I might not be kissing you right now."

"Actually," Dean replies, brows shooting up and face blanketing itself in mock solemnness, "you're not kissing me, you whispering to me about very sad things."

"Then I'll shut up and you can put your stupid lips on mine again, how 'bout that?" Cas muses, shifting closer, and Dean hums his agreement.

And their lips catch on eachother again, lapping and careful, still hesitant.

Hands begin to clutch at shirt collars and the sound of footsteps on the metal stairs in the the circular column of the stairway doesn't break their enthusiasm, neither does Sam's voice humming low and conspiratorial in little contrast to Charlie's own gravelly voice, distinct but whispered.

"Hey, kiddos, what's--" Meg's drawling, slightly southern accented voice calls from across the room but skids to a stop, and Dean guesses it's because she's spotted him, with his lips attached to Castiel's, and, he realises, he doesn't mind one bit. "Well, what do we have here. You finally figure it out, boys?" She calls and Cas tries to pull away but Dean doesn't let him, tugs at the back of his neck and slowly raises his hand in a middle finger salute in the direction of Meg's voice as Cas gives in to his insistent pull.

"Fuckin' idiots," she mumbles in response and Charlie giggles, but Dean just pushes harder into the kiss, bottom lip caressing Cas', teeth grazing it every once in a while, and he realises, with a short laugh, that his lips will probably be swollen by the end of the night but he also realises he doesn't exactly care, so long as Cas is the reason they're swollen.

He finally pulls away though, with much reluctance, and grabs Sam's attention just as Meg slips her arms around Charlie's waist from behind and rests her chin on Charlie's shoulder.

Sam leaves the girls to whatever they do when people are around but aren't paying attention and saunters over, shit-eating grin splitting his face in half.

"What can I do ya for, sir?" He raises his eyebrows and Dean sends him a narrow-eyed glare of 'really?' before requesting two shots of Jack.

Cas looks up at him, eyes wide, probably remembering the same thing he is right now - that one night, at the upscale bar where they almost kissed and got cheered at by a group of young women.

Dean catches his gaze and half-grins, raising a brow, challenging and Cas' mouth opens, corners of his lips curving up, doesn't break eye contact with Dean when he says, "I'll take four, then."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up to his hair line and he nods in playful denunciation, accepting the implied game.

"Alright, you really wanna do this?"

Cas narrows his eyes, and, without missing a single beat, takes down all four, not even pausing to breathe.

Dean does that kind of approving bow of his lips and continues to nod, motioning at Sam for three more, then slamming all five back without hesitation. Cas laughs and tilts a bit, leaning against the bar, and Sam cocks a brow at them, regarding them both warily.

"Guys, I don't think--"

"Shut up, bitch," Dean cuts him off and Sam shoots him a glare.

"I'll start charging you, jerk," Sam retorts and Dean only stares up at him without contrition.

"Two more," Cas says and Sam presses out a sigh, annoyed dimples denting themselves into his cheeks.

They both stop around nine or ten, when Cas is swaying violently in his seat and Dean is hiccuping with his head on the bar, about to pass out. And eventually they get pretty handsy and make their way to a booth and fall into it, attached by their mouths.

Sam only continues to roll his eyes and scrub away at the glasses.


	7. Chapter 7

**_ Six months ago _ **

Dean sits closer than usual, arm slung around the back of the couch and, by default, around Cas' shoulders, as they watch the woman at the station in front of them disassemble parts of the hood of an awfully old car. Dean's face is smug but his demeanour is slightly rigid, his hands shake a bit.

Cas tries not to get his hopes up that these things are because of him, but he can't help wondering.

He shifts to adjust his sweater and Dean turns his head with a smile. The telly drones on and they stare at eachother.

They really should talk about what happened all those months ago at the bar, the almost-kiss.

It seems like something important. 

But, right now, Cas feels like there's nothing _actually_  more important than counting every speckle of colour in those green-gold eyes.

He doesn't know what he was thinking when he almost kissed Dean.

Maybe he wasn't thinking.

Or maybe he was counting the colours like he is now. Or maybe he was wondering how those beautiful pink lips would taste on his.

Or maybe something else entirely.

He can't remember - it was so long ago, it seems, and he was probably more than a little tipsy.

But he'll always remember the way Dean looked at him just before it happened, with such awe and wonder, such amazement.

The way he's looking at him right now.

"Where's your pretty head right now, huh?" Dean whispers, and Cas feels the younger man's fingers coming to rest on his shoulder, thumb playing along just above his collarbone, and he shudders.

If Dean notices, he doesn't react.

"Thinking about how you're kind of beautiful," he lets it slip, without care and without regret, because he thinks maybe Dean deserves to know how amazing he makes Cas feel.

"Mmm, not so bad yourself, angel," Dean breathes, leaning in a bit, and Cas pushes out a shaky sigh, lips parting.

Dean tugs him closer, Cas' sweater scraping against the striped fabric of the couch that Bobby keeps in his garage where Cas found Dean about half an hour ago, seething over a cup of abandoned coffee and some notes for a more difficult commission he'd gotten over a week ago and still couldn't figure out how to start.

Cas had called Sam and asked him where Dean might be because he wasn't answering his phone and Sam told him either the studio or the garage and when he didn't see the Impala outside of the abandoned factory Dean had made into a work space for painting, Cas had immediately driven to Bobby's garage and spotted Dean in the corner, hunched over aforementioned notes. As he approached, Dean had whipped his head up and the scowl had melted from his features right away, had turned into a soft smile and some sparkling eyes and they had taken a seat on the couch and started talking back and forth about stupid little things like how Dean wants to take Cas to this one little grassy field way out of town because there's no lights and "you can just see the stars all so perfectly, every single one of them and it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, Cas. I mean it's just so gorgeous and peaceful, you'll love it" and how Cas wanted to see Dean in a tux because "I don't know, Dean, I think that would be pretty hot".

And now they sit in relative silence as the click-grind and clang of metal against metal drones on in the background.

They're both in their own little world together and Dean visibly has his arm around Cas' neck, and his shoulder is buried in Dean's arm pit, and his eyes are rolling over the floor because he can't look up right now because God, Dean's so warm and sweet next to him and they fit together so perfectly and everything is just so damn great right now.

A sly smirk grows on his lips and he catches Dean's own grin out of the periphery of his vision and he can't help but grin too.

Dean turns his head slightly, hesitates for a second, and then his lips are soft against Castiel's temple and every good, serene emotion that's ever existed washes over Cas - all of them at once - and a shiver slams up his spine.

"You're kind of beautiful, too, Cas," he says against Cas' forehead and his words vibrate straight through into Cas' skull and bounce off every single cenitmetre of each wall until they settle in the centre of his brain and soak in, leaving an incredible tingling, sparkling residue that Cas doesn't want to let go of.

Cas closes his eyes and he thinks Dean's eyes are closed too, and they sit there like that, with Dean's lips against Cas' temple and his arm around Cas' neck, holding him there, holding him up, and they don't speak for a while.

Just hold eachother.

Just like this.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget to mention that literally none of my works are beta'd, only American-picked every once in a blue moon. So. Sorry if this is littered with mistakes lmao

**_ Three months ago _ **

They end up at the bar where Sam works, about an hour before they close. Having waddled in here at around one in the morning, already tipsy and clinging to eachother for balance, they now sit in a booth across from eachother, just staring into eachother's eyes, quiet smiles clutching at their lips.

Sam comes by a few times to check on them, each time giving them a different bitch face, and once even a grossed-out looking scowl.

But they ignore him and wave him off and continue to only see eachother in the middle of the sphere of chaos and dancing bodies and swaying arms and bouncing legs and pounding music and glasses clinking and voices chattering and everything moving and living and breathing around them as they sit still and speak in low, conspiratorial conversations, stealing little smiles and purposely brushing their knees together beneath the table.

Dean's foot occasionally knocks against Cas's and Dean smiles uncontrollably, because Cas's cheeks turn so red so easily...or maybe it's just him.

He won't get his hopes up, despite the memories of the almost-kiss they shared a year ago now, still so fresh in his mind, but he can't but entertain the idea that it might be.

Dean sucks his lips between his teeth and then purses them, green eyes glinting up at Cas through his lashes and a smirk growing on his lips. Cas, who's cheeks turn to pink fire and who's smile grows across his chin, a pink and white, gummy valley below his nose that makes Dean's heart race.

Dean's hand falls from its fisted steeple beneath his chin and finds Cas' already resting in the centre of the table. Dean's eyes drop to the sight as their fingertips brush, only lightly, not enough for anyone to really notice, especially not anyone here, where every other person is drunk or dancing.

His lips part at the contact, at the sparks that he knows could start a fucking bonfire, and his eyes flip back up to Cas, who's own cosmic blue eyes are already wide, awestruck, watching him, two beautiful, deep blue galaxies shining bright above two flickering pastel pink planes burning with the sunrise of something new, something incredible.

The breath is sucked from his lungs as he stares back, unsure about whether he wants to try that kiss again. Probably...maybe no one will distract them this time.

But...he's also still unsure about what Sam's feelings are about Cas. He seems indifferent, and if he's pissed about anything, it's about Dean not "making a move already. I mean, Christ, Dean, you guys stare at eachother like you both hung the moon".

Still, he doesn't want to upset his brother.

So he sticks with sliding his fingers forward over Cas', then twisting their hands and weaving them together and circling his thumb over the soft skin between Cas' thumb and index finger and letting the heat radiate between them and - oh...they're holding hands.

Everything around them aprubtly dulls, fading out to a low buzz, the voices becoming farther away, the heartbeat of the music turning to a dull thud, and the entire world slows and narrows and suddenly the only thing he sees and hears is Cas.

Cas's midnight eyes, Cas's quirked lips, Cas's sexed-up dark brown hair, Cas's skin nearly iridescent in the glow of the black light strobes, Cas's breath puffing soft on his nose because he's so damn fucking close, Cas's rumbling laugh carrying so clear, somehow, over the entire rest of the room, Cas's eyelashes shifting slowly down and sweeping across his scarlet peaked flesh, Cas's fingers so warm and sweet interlaced with his own on the table below them, Cas's body shifting ever closer every second, Cas's face so dangerously close to Dean's...

Everything Cas. All of it. Not a single thing in his vision or in his ears that does not consist of something that relates to Cas.

And right now, Dean is thanking the stars in Cas' eyes that when they put these booths in a two years ago, they decided to make the table thinner, because, oh, how he loves being able to lean over so easily and drop his forehead to Cas'.

His unoccupied hand lifts to Cas' cheek, warm, stubbly, swelling with a smile.

And they sit there for a long time. Like that. Because that's what they do. That's a thing for them, is sitting places, with their hands on eachother, going no further than to put their foreheads together or even brush noses, saying no words at all. Just holding eachother.

Because Dean Winchester doesn't do words. And in all honesty, neither does Castiel Novak. And in even more honesty, neither of them really need words.

This thing growing between them (ha), emotionally and physically, is just a given.

And they're both entirely okay with that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one, I promise. And, again, I'm so sorry that this entire thing is literally so shitty that people don't even want to click on it to read it like wow okay

**_ Now _ **

It's been a month since that first kiss. 

The one where Charlie and Sam had to smack their legs and drag them from the booth seat by their ears and send them to whichever loft they so pleased.

That kiss.

And they've had countless more.

One was random and sweet; they had decided it was a spectacular day for a walk and as they strolled past the duck pond at eleven in the morning, Dean had turned to Cas, grabbed his face, and attached their lips. It was the first one they had where neither of them were drunk.

Then there was one that was long, slow, passionate; they were sitting up beside the floor to ceiling window in Cas' loft, around one in the morning, staring up at the moon, talking about the stars and constellations which eventually, somehow, led to Dean's freckles and Cas' eyes, and they stared at eachother for a long moment before Dean crawled slowly over the half a metre space between them and tilted his head and kissed Cas just as slowly as he had crawled there, and with ten times the intensity, and both of them felt incredibly stupid for the years they wasted not doing this.

Another one was desperate and rough and led to Cas' hand wrapped around both of them; it was mid-afternoon, maybe three, and Dean came home from the garage, seething over how one of the other mechanics had somehow managed to misplace three hubcaps from the same car and they'd not found them anywhere in the garage and now they were going to have to replace them and Dean just kept ranting in a steaming pile of anger and at some point Cas just set down his book, walked to the recliner, plopped down on top of Dean, straddling his hips, and effectively silencing his 'I swear to God, this guy is gonna--wait, Cas, what are you--' with a gentle kiss, which Dean melted into and then pushed into. Teeth and tongue and panting and gasping and even a torn t-shirt because Dean needed his "hands on you, Cas, like right now, please, just" and hair disheveled all ensued.

And then there was the one that was funny and slightly dangerous; it happened last week, outside of a church where Christian Baptists were protesting the legalisation of Gay Marriage (or, as Cas remembers Dean mumbling, 'it's just fucking marriage, you asshats. Why do you have to specify') and Dean laughed, grabbed Cas' hand, fingers laced, and pulled him close. He whispered something along the lines of 'how mad do you think they'd be if we kissed in front of 'em' and then Cas laughed too and Dean dragged him out right in front of them maybe a metre and a half away from the closest person, and Dean turned around and pulled Cas close, arms around his waist. Lifted a hand. Stroked his cheek. Leaned down and kissed him softly. Disgusted scoffs and three unwarranted screams emanated from the crowd and Dean just pulled away and smiled broadly down at Cas and took his hand again and started walking away, holding a middle finger up above his head as they went, looking for all the world like Bender at the end of Breakfast Club.

Cas still likes that one the best.

But these are only examples, the one Cas remembers fondly and dotes upon when he's bored, or even when he's not, even when he's supposed to be concentrating on a patient at the clinic where he's a part-time nurse.

He can't seem to grasp the potency of his love for Dean, and that frustrates him beyond comprehension because everyone else can. He's unable to understand the depth at which his love floats and Dean appears to have the same problem, but they know they love eachother, are _in_  love with eachother, and they don't let these problems get in the way of that.

Whatever the case, they've come a long way from what they used to be.

And Novaks continue to have some strange attachment to Winchesters, and vise versa.

And Cas thinks his life may just be complete.

Or it would be...

If only Gabe were still around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alSO LIKE A WEEK AFTER I WROTE THIS, I FOUND A NEARLY PERFECT MATCH FOR THE SCENE WHERE DEAN FLIPS THEM OFF AS HE WALKS AWAY AND IT'S LIKE UGH I'M SO FUCKING MAD BECAUSE I CAN'T PUT A PICTURE ON HERE, IT WON'T LET ME FUCKING FIGHT ME, MATE

**Author's Note:**

> I strive to be an excellent writer and I have all these beautiful, breathtaking ideas and prompts but I can't...I don't have the skills to write any of it. I have this inexplicable vocabulary, an amazing aptitude for English, been writing for years now, and /yet/ I can't...-sigh- I'm so sorry. I wish I could do better than this, write everything I feel and want and need for these dumbarses but I can't put things inside my head onto paper...erm, whatever. Please don't read any of my fics they are all complete /shite/ and I tend to get me pants in a stretch when I can't write as well as I want to, so simply ignore me, thank you.


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